Dana Marton - Rogue Soldier

SUNLIGHT REACHED THEM at about ten in the morning, and even then they did not see the sun, only its gray reflection in the sky. They had been walking for hours by then, catching a lucky break with a bright moon and temporarily cloudless weather. They kept going, hungry, bundled up against the cold, hoping to find a road they could follow to civilization.

Mike shot a snowshoe rabbit a little after noon. They gutted and skinned the animal quickly, before it had a chance to freeze. Neither wanted to waste daylight, but they agreed on stopping long enough to make a fire and roast the meat.

The going was slow over the rough terrain, darkness coming too soon again. They’d been following a semifrozen creek. Tessa stepped out of the woods and stopped at the edge of a clearing, squinted her eyes. Wait a minute—

“Heard something?” Mike came up behind her.

She shook her head and pointed. “Over there.” She moved toward what she had first taken for a giant snow-covered boulder. She could make out some evenly spaced logs, the slope of a low-pitched roof. She felt shaky for a moment, unsure whether from excitement or exhaustion.

“A cabin!” Mike fought his way toward the buried structure, pushing the snow aside.

He cleared a door by the time she caught up with him, grinning from ear to ear when he aimed the gun at the padlock. The shot echoed through the forest.

“I wonder how far that carried.” She glanced at him with a twinge of unease.

He shrugged. “If the CIA is around, they are in a chopper. If they are close enough to hear a shot we’d be able to hear the rotors. I don’t think they have a good enough location on us yet to send in a ground team.”

“People live in these parts. Not everyone goes south for the winter.”

“Good. If one of the neighbors comes over to investigate, he can help us figure out the fastest way to the nearest town.”

He kicked the door in, and a good pile of snow went with it. She stepped forward first, peering into the darkness, moving to the right and staying still until her eyes got used to the dark.

The one-room cabin was small, ten by twelve maybe, with a sleeping loft above the general living area. There was wood stacked in the kitchen next to the iron stove, canned food on the open shelves. She went to light a lamp and turned it up, while Mike cleared the snow from the vinyl-covered plywood floor and closed and barred the door behind them.

He flashed her one of those sexy grins that used to get her every time. “Didn’t I tell you we’d be fine?”

“If I recall correctly, you said you wouldn’t eat me until all other options were exhausted.” She was still not completely immune. She couldn’t help grinning back.

“Well, we’re not out of the woods yet.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows and snapped his teeth.

She threw her glove at him and gave him the iciest glower she could muster, not an easy task with heat spreading through her body at his lighthearted banter and the playful look in his eyes.

He caught the glove and stalked closer. “Let me at least take a look at what I won’t be having. You have to take off those frozen clothes and get your circulation moving. I can help.”

She’d just bet he could. Her body was squealing, “Yes, please!” Fortunately, she was smart enough to ignore it. She put the stove between them.

“It’s not going to work.” She couldn’t count how many times he had charmed her like this, or when all else had failed, tackled her, bringing them both to the ground, tickling her until she let go of whatever she’d been mad about. “We need to start a fire,” she added in a voice of measured reason.

He lifted his hands in capitulation. “I’ll do the fire. Why don’t you scare up something to eat?”

True to his words, he had a fire going by the time she wiped the frost off the cans, figured out what was what and opened two beef stews with a knife, since she couldn’t find the can opener. She dumped the contents into an iron skillet and set it on the stove, stepping around him as he was trying to coax the small flames to grow.

God, it brought back the past, the two of them working together like this. She moved away to put a little distance between them, pushing back the memories that rushed her. They’d had some good times; she couldn’t deny that. But had it been as special as her mind was now making it out to be? Was it only that he was her first real love, her first lover? That was it, she was sure. Every woman must have a special place in her heart for her first. She shouldn’t make too much of the feelings that had risen from the past to confuse her. She made a point of turning her back to Mike and busied herself in the kitchen.

Within minutes it was warm enough to take her parka off, then her mukluks—the sealskin boots that had kept her feet warm and dry. She got up to stir the food but he beat her to it, so she sank back onto the overturned bucket she used for a seat.

He tasted the stew. “Almost.”

He’d undressed, too. He looked good, even with his dark hair all mussed, or maybe especially because of that. It lent a boyish charm to the man whose towering height and wide shoulders would have been intimidating otherwise. His body had grown leaner since she’d last seen him. His impressive muscles were still there, but he had lost a lot of the roundness and softness. He looked harder, edgier, more dangerous—very much like one of those highland heroes on the covers of her mother’s historical romances.

His cinnamon eyes locked with hers as he extended the wooden spoon toward her. “Want a taste?”

She pushed to her feet before she knew what she was doing and walked away. Not that she could go far. She reached the other side of the cabin in a half-dozen steps. “No,” she said. “Thanks.” She grabbed the notched ladder and climbed to the loft, the space so low she couldn’t straighten.

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